


Bless Your Soul (You Really Think You're In Control?)

by PepperF



Series: Diego whump [8]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: 60s psychiatric care, All that stuff, Angst, Gen, Grief, Isolation, or ''''''''''care''''''''''', you know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:28:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26895223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PepperF/pseuds/PepperF
Summary: The first time he's thrown into a padded cell is after his second escape attempt.
Series: Diego whump [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1951318
Comments: 8
Kudos: 25
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	Bless Your Soul (You Really Think You're In Control?)

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote some of these prompts out of order, so this is one of my earlier attempts, and I'm not 100% about it, but - anyhow. Have some whump. :)
> 
> Thanks, as always, to Bethany for the beta!

The first time he's thrown into a padded cell is after his second escape attempt.

He wouldn't describe what they've done so far as merciful, exactly—he's been incarcerated, drugged against his will, and subjected to some really unsubtle therapy ("Would you say you and your mother were... _close_?" his ass)—but isolation is the last thing he needs right now. He's got no idea where his siblings are or whether they survived, he's cut off from all his usual resources and the world he knows, and he's on a self-imposed deadline to achieve something good from this entire fuck-up. But the door closes, and he realizes with a shudder that he's not alone: he's been locked in here with the helpless, hopeless feeling that he's been trying to ignore for weeks.

"Hey! _Hey!_ Let me out! I know my rights, you can't do this to me!"

He doesn't actually know his rights, here and now, but it's worth a try. 

But if they hear him, they turn a deaf ear. Maybe the room is soundproofed—or maybe they just don't give a shit. That one orderly who has taken a personal dislike to him glances back, though, and gives him an evil smirk. _Go on,_ he seems to be saying, _break down and beg. I could use a laugh._

Diego retreats from the door and backs into a wall, sliding down into a ready crouch. He surveys his surroundings, looking for weaknesses, as he's been trained to do. He already knows that he's got nothing on him that he can use as a lockpick, and even if he could break out, he's exhausted all the escape plans he's come up with so far, so it's a far better plan simply to wait this out. He won't be in here for long, all things considered. But his impatience, and the voice in his head that sounds like Dad, are driving him on, telling him that any of the others would have escaped already, Number One would have overpowered his captors, Three would have bent their wills to her own, Five would just have disappeared...he's a failure, a disappointment...

He pushes himself up and starts pacing, occasionally slamming a fist against the door, but throwing a tantrum in a padded room is exactly as unsatisfying as it sounds. He can't do anything, he's useless and stupid, he should've gotten the escape right first time, he should never have gotten himself locked up in the first place, he should've been smarter...

With a shout of defiance, louder than the voices in his head, he hurls himself at the door, only to be shrugged off by the foam padding. He rebounds with a yell, and leaps back into the fray, attacking it with fists and knees and sheer force of will. Eventually he collapses to the floor, exhausted, panting and sweating ( _he's not crying_ ) from the exertion. He's made no impact whatsoever. All that effort, and he's achieved nothing.

He rolls onto his side and stares dully at the far wall, stained in patches by people who've been in here before him. They probably fought just as hard, just as wildly, and for what? To leave a few more stains and the pervasive smell of old sweat, to be allowed back out again when they'd given in and learned their lesson: that all their fear and passion and rage were as nothing before the vast indifference of the world.

He can feel the wild beat of his heart battering against the cage of his chest, like he's afraid, like he's a child hiding from monsters. But there's nowhere to hide in this white room, no safe corner, so he closes his eyes—

—and the grief hits him, all at once, like it's been lying in wait.

He can't breathe. He curls in on himself, eyes squeezing shut, gasping for air around the pressure in his chest. He grieves for his siblings; for himself, lost and alone for so, so long, it feels like forever; for _Patch_ , god, he hasn’t let himself think about her since he got here; for his mom, and Pogo, and—god help him—even for his _dad_...

A sob escapes him then. He tries to turn away, but there's no getting away from this. He can't run and he can't hide. He has no escape.

Diego surrenders.


End file.
